


Underwater (I'm forgetting how to Breathe)

by Atlanta_Black



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Depression, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve is a mess, Tony wants to help but is also a mess and doesn't know how
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/pseuds/Atlanta_Black
Summary: The water breaks.He wakes up in New York City in 2011. Wakes up in a world that has turned him into something of a fantasy, someone that a lot of people barely believe existed.For a while the only thing he can focus on is the anger burning deep in his stomach. The anger that he is still still alive and Bucky is gone. Gone, dead, never coming back. Peggy looks at him with pity shining in her eyes and he hates that he woke up. Hates this new world.He guiltily wishes that Peggy wasn’t here to see him like this and hates himself more for that thought.....AKA that light hearted "people get Steve's birthday wrong" fic that somehow turned into an angsty "Steve Rogers is a mess" fic instead





	Underwater (I'm forgetting how to Breathe)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FermionCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FermionCat/gifts), [RedHorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/gifts).

> I'm gifting this fic to Red & Ferm because they've been insanely supportive the last few months so this is for them now. Honestly everyone in the writing discord server is supportive as fuck but I uhhhhh also didn't want to tag twenty different people lmfao I'll gift the next thing I write to someone else 
> 
> Also, shoutout to Red for also beta-ing this work for me! <3

It starts like this. 

The USO girls start a running joke that Steve is so patriotic his birthday must be on the fourth of July. They all know it’s a joke. Steve knows it’s a joke. The choreographer behind the ridiculous dances knows it’s a joke. 

The couple drunk soldiers that overhear the girls laughing about it do  _ not _ know that it’s a joke. 

Somehow it goes from a couple drunk soldiers believing it, to an entire squadron laughing in disbelief, to Col. Phillips looking at him and curtly asking him if it was true. 

That could have been the end of it. He could have said no and gone about his business and Col. Phillips would have eventually set the squadron straight. Instead what happened is Steve panicked and muttered a  _ yes sir!  _ Somehow, Bucky never finds out and Steve never mentions it. 

.

.

.

.

The water breaks.

He wakes up in New York City in 2011. Wakes up in a world that has turned him into something of a fantasy, someone that a lot of people barely believe existed. 

For a while the only thing he can focus on is the anger burning deep in his stomach. The anger that he is  _ still still  _ alive and Bucky is gone. Gone, dead, never coming back. Peggy looks at him with pity shining in her eyes and he hates that he woke up. Hates this new world. 

He guiltily wishes that Peggy wasn’t here to see him like this and hates himself more for that thought.

He goes to visit a museum exhibit about The Howling Commandos at one point. Tells himself it’s too see what history got wrong but really, he just wants to see Bucky’s face. Wants to stand in a dark corner and drink in the features of someone he’s never going to see again. 

_ Sixty-six years in the ice has done nothing to ease the pain of losing Bucky. Has done nothing to ease the grief still clinging to his bones.  _

It’s while he’s standing in the museum, baseball cap pulled low, that he spots the section of the exhibit about himself. There in giant block numbers, right next to his name, his birthday is listed as July 4th, 1918. 

The sight of it jerks a startled, disbelieving laugh from him before he can stop it. He grins, leans back against the wall, turns his stare back to Bucky’s face. If he was here now he’d never let Steve live this down. Would make sure the whole world knew that Steve Rogers lied about his own birthday.

But he’s not here and the brief humor that had filled Steve’s chest disappears before it can do anything more than make him ache.

He pulls his hood up higher and thwarts at least three different muggings on the way back to SHIELD. The fear in their expressions as he looms over them does nothing to make him feel better but at least it eases some of the violence itching at his fingertips.

.

.

.

.

He forgets about his birthday. Has no reason to think of it and probably would have gone right on  _ not _ thinking about it except Coulson walks up to him and thrusts a small package into his hands. It has a bright red, white and blue bow on top of it and Coulson has something close to mortification on his face. The most emotion Steve has seen from Coulson since he met him. 

“I got you a birthday present,” he says, close to muttering. “Figured it would be nice to celebrate your first year out of the ice.”

Steve stares. Looks from the present in his hands back to Coulson who is rapidly flushing a dull shade of red.

“Thanks, Agent Coulson,” he says, and locks his muscles into place. “I really appreciate the thought.” He breathes out, breathes in. Tries to ignore the cold creeping over his skin. The roaring in his ears blocks whatever Coulson says in return and when he comes back to himself Coulson is gone and only a few minutes have passed.

He turns and goes back to his room. Sits the present gently on the desk and resists the urge to throw it against the wall. He sits on his bed and breathes in and out for an hour. Breathes in and out until the sound of rushing water leaves his ears and his skin stops feeling like ice. He swears he can feel water licking at his heels but he doesn’t look.

After an hour, he gets up and walk back to SHIELD. Agent Hill is the next to say happy birthday to him. Sweeping past him before he can even think to utter a response. Barton is next and then Sitwell. By the time the twentieth office employee wishes him a happy birthday he’s gotten the response down pat. A tight smile and a brief nod and they all seem perfectly happy to let him continue on his way.

He doesn’t know these people. Doesn’t want to know these people. If they think his birthday is on Independence Day well then that’s their problem. Especially since in the sixty-six years he was in the ice no one could be bothered to look up his birth certificate. 

The first time Fury says something to him about his birthday, judgement in his eyes, Steve feels a curl of dark humor settle in his chest. Even the director of SHIELD, who seems to pride himself on knowing everything, doesn’t realize how wrong he is. 

The dark curl of humor grows every time he hears someone make a joke about it. It’s not his fault that everyone is more obsessed with the myth of Captain America than with learning about Steve Rogers. 

Still, for all that he doesn’t care, it leaves something empty and bitter growing inside him. For all that he had been an outcast growing up there had always been at least one person who knew everything about him. First his mother and then Bucky. And then when his mom died Bucky had still been there, arm warm around his shoulder. 

He has no one in this time and he is still just so fucking angry. 

The water at his heels licks higher and he keeps his eyes straight ahead.

.

.

.

.

October rolls by and his real birthday passes with barely an acknowledgement even from himself and he finds that he prefers it this way. Thanks God for the first time there’s no one left who knows when it is. He hadn’t been able to go out on Independence Day without having someone stop him every two minutes to congratulate him and it had been infuriating. Had left something hiding in his chest that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

This was preferable. He could sit in the dark of his apartment and just breathe. Just breathe and think about Bucky and how he had always taken such great pleasure in waking Steve up on his birthday. How on his sixteenth birthday Bucky had dragged Steve down to the bay and handed him a beer that Steve still wasn’t sure how he had gotten. They had leaned against a rock and talked about what they were going to do as soon as they got out of school. He had listened to Bucky talk about his sisters, a quiet joy lingering in his tone. In return, he had told Bucky about the few memories he had of his father. Of the dim memory of a man that had seemed so tall and who had made his mother smile in a way he wasn’t sure he had ever seen since.

About how, every year no matter how poor they were his mom always found a way to get some kind of cake put together. Some years it was a cupcake or a fruit cake but there was always something. No matter how often he told her she didn’t have to she always found some way to make the day special.

The day passes by slower than any other and the memories seem stronger. He doesn’t leave his apartment. Doesn’t go to SHIELD. Doesn’t even remember to eat. He sits on his couch, stares at the wall and wishes he remembered how to cry. Wishes he had never woken up. Wishes that he didn’t still feel the water licking at his shins.

.

.

.

.

.

Steve doesn’t know how long he would have continued to soldier on if circumstances had stayed the same. Doesn’t know how much fight he had left in him. But Fury walks in the gym and hands him a file with a picture of that fucking alien orb and he almost punches him. 

That orb had cost Bucky his life and they had the nerve to dig it out of the ocean. The nerve to make his sacrifice seem like nothing. The betrayal he feels when he hears it was Howard who dug it up mixes in with the anger and he feels as if he is going to combust. Doesn’t know how much longer he can keep up this facade of being the polite soldier they all seem to think he is. 

That betrayal is still close at the front of his thoughts when he meets Tony and for a moment all he can see is Howard. All he can see is that orb and Bucky’s terror as he fell. The rage that’s been growing underneath his skin leaks into his voice and later, much later, he regrets that Tony’s first impression of him had been anger. Regrets that Tony thinks he disapproves of him. 

Which isn’t to say that he likes Tony when he meets him but it takes a certain type of person to fly around in a suit and risk their life for people. 

But he can’t seem to hold the anger in when he talks to Tony and later, he’ll look back on himself telling Tony to not hack into SHIELD and laugh at the fucking hypocrisy of it. Who was he to tell someone to listen to orders when he himself never had?

But Tony takes all of the anger he can hear in Steve’s voice and he hits back twice as hard. 

_ “Everything special about you came out of a bottle,” Tony spits and there’s something like rage, like fire, hiding in his voice. Something like a plea lingering in the way his fingers curl. _

He doesn’t actually remember the last time he’s felt this angry. Maybe never. Before there was always Buck, there to rationalize whatever had Steve angry. Now there’s just him and his thoughts and a guy who looks too much like Howard. 

“Put on the suit, let’s go a few rounds,” he snaps, and he thinks he’s  _ finally _ going to get to fight someone who can hold his own. Thinks he might finally get rid of some of this rage. He should know better; he never gets what he wants.

Later, when he’s battling aliens in the middle of New York, exhausted in a way he hasn’t been since the Red Skull, he regrets wishing for something that could hold its own against him. Because fate has answered and definitely not in a way he wanted. 

Near the end there’s this heart-stopping moment where he thinks Tony is going to die before he ever has a chance to apologize and he can’t breathe. His lungs feel too tight, like he’s struggling to breathe through the water filling them up. The water licks higher and he stays standing through sheer force of will.

Tony falls from the sky, a blur of red, and he promises himself that if Tony lives through this he’ll apologize. He’ll be nicer.

_ “Please tell me no one kissed me,” Tony gasps, eyes suddenly wide open. He meets Steve’s eyes and for a moment there’s something like longing, like hunger lingering in his gaze. _

_ _

He breathes out, lungs feeling more like his own. He breathes in and the water retreats just a little bit.

.

_ . _

_ . _

_ . _

Life moves on. He wakes up and it’s a year later. A year later and the rage hasn’t left but it has calmed. Turned into less of an inferno.

He ends up moving into Stark Tower for no reason other than he’s sick of being in SHIELD-owned housing. It helps that Tony is very persuasive when he wants to be. 

It hadn’t been his persuasiveness that convinced Steve though. When Tony had been rambling on about all the space he had  _ and really it was just him living there so it wasn’t like Steve would get in the way there was so much space and Steve could have an entire floor if he wanted in fact he wouldn’t even see Tony if he didn’t want to and — _

There had been a note of loneliness in his voice that Steve couldn’t help but empathize with. So, he moved into the tower and over the course of a year the rest of the avengers slowly trickled in as well. 

Banner came first, eyes darting all over the building and lingering on the glass windows that were everywhere. He let Tony ramble about science all he wanted but it took him ages to get comfortable in the tower. Ages to think he wasn’t going to destroy the tower and everyone in it.

Natasha came next. He’s not even sure she told Tony she was coming. He just woke up one morning and she was in the kitchen, drinking coffee as if she’d always been there. Clint followed shortly after. He didn’t give a reason but Steve got the feeling he wasn’t comfortable not having someone in SHIELD to watch his back at night. 

Thor pops in randomly with no warning. He has his own floor but never stays long. From what Steve understands there’s a scientist somewhere that he goes to visit when he’s not visiting with them.

And for a while they all live in the same building but that’s it. They’re not friends. Only teammates who inhabit the same space and Steve doesn’t know if it helps with the loneliness or if it just draws more attention to the gaping hole in his chest. To the feeling of water creeping up his thighs. To the feeling of ice on his eyelashes and water in his lungs.

He breathes in, breathes out.

.

.

.

.

The first time his birthday rolls around after he’s moved into the tower, he locks himself in his room and decides he’s not going out today. He doesn’t feel like smiling and acting like everything is fine. He would have done it too, would have stayed sitting on the floor of his bedroom all day if the sudden knock on the door hadn’t startled him.

He almost doesn’t answer it. His limbs feel heavy with grief and he’s struggling to breath around the phantom cold clutching his lungs. But he would never forgive himself if he found out one of his team was injured because he had been too busy being sad. So, he answers the door only to find no one there.

He blinks. Sticks his head out the door and looks up and down the hallway but there’s no one at the door. He stands there in the open doorway for a few moments wondering if he is actually losing his mind before happening to glance down. There’s a small bundle of things sitting in an honest-to-god wicker basket in front of his door. He blinks at it blankly for a few more moments before picking it up and going back in his room.

Inside the basket he finds a sketchbook. The paper inside of it feels expensive, nothing like what he used to draw on. There’s a pack of drawing pencils that also look ridiculously expensive, a folded-up note and two tickets to an exclusive art exhibit by an artist he’s never heard of.

_ Hey-o cap, _

_ _

_ Jarvis said you weren’t feeling well so I won’t bother you but I figured I’d get you a few things so that you don’t forget all about your minions while you’re sick. _

_ _

_ What am I saying. I’m not a minion. So, you don’t forget all about your handsome, amazing, insanely-smart team members. _

_ _

_ That description of course only applies to me. I will never in any way apply the words handsome or amazing or smart to Barton. _

_ _

_ Anyways, I hope you’re okay. I thought super soldiers couldn’t get sick? The tickets are for next week when you’ll definitely feel better. You don’t have to take me obviously but if you don’t have anyone else you want to take I can go with you but also if you have some hot girlfriend hiding away somewhere please don’t feel obligated to take me. _

_ _

_ ANYWAYS! _

_ _

_ Feel better Cap.  _

_ _

_ Tony ;) _

_ _

Steve stares at the letter and then stares back down at the stuff on his counter. His chest feels lighter suddenly and he folds the letter back up, a smile stubbornly clinging to his lips. He still has no plans on leaving his room but there’s something comforting about knowing that it hadn’t gone unnoticed. That someone had been worried about him.

Even if Tony knows he can’t get sick.

He sits back down on the floor, stares at the blank pages of the sketchbook and slowly starts sketching an outline of the team. The water recedes just a bit, the noise of the ocean dimming away.

.

.

.

.

Life moves on and Steve wakes up one day and realizes suddenly that he has friends. 

It happens so gradually that he barely notices it but the realization knocks him over the head one morning while he’s thinking about his plans for the day. Knocks him over the head and leaves him hyperventilating on the floor. Friends mean that he cares and if he cares then they can be used against him. They can be taken away and he’ll be left all alone again and he doesn’t know if he can handle it again. 

Doesn’t know how much longer he can keep up the facade that he’s fine. Because, yes, he has friends but they still have no idea that he is a bomb just waiting to explode. 

He spars with Natasha and plays video games with Clint. He has long conversations over tea with Bruce and drinks with Thor. He spends hours in Tony’s workshop drawing and listening to the hum of machines in the background. But he hasn’t told any of them that he still feels water creeping up his legs and that most days he wakes up choking on water that isn’t there. Hasn’t told anyone that it’s only getting worse.

He doesn’t leave his room. Locks his door and tells Jarvis to not let anyone in unless something is attacking the city. He turns off his phone and sits on the floor until he can breathe again. Turns his music up so loud he can’t hear himself think, spends the day drawing and desperately trying to drown out the noise in his brain. 

He draws Bucky from memory and then draws him again because he got the eyes wrong the first time. Draws him again because his fingers were off. Draws him again because he still couldn’t get the eyes right. Draws him again and then puts a fist through the wall in a fit of grief. It feels like for every day that he’s awake another detail slips away from him and he’s so fucking scared he’s going to wake up one day and not be able to remember what Bucky looked like. Not be able to remember what he sounded like or the way it felt when he’d sling his arm around Steve’s shoulders. 

He’s so afraid and so tired. 

But life keeps moving on. 

.

.

_ . _

_ . _

Independence Day rolls around again and Steve might have been able to forget that it was supposedly his birthday. Might have except that he walks into the kitchen, still blinking sleep from his eyes, and Tony pops confetti in his face. He stands blinking in confusion, covered in confetti, for far longer than he cares to admit. Long enough to remember that everyone thinks it’s his birthday and long enough to wish he’d stayed in bed. 

He knows that he could tell them when he was actually born. Knows that they wouldn’t judge him, even though they would make fun of him for a bit. Knows that he could also just tell them he doesn’t like celebrating his birthday. They’d drop it. God knows no one even thinks about mentioning Natasha’s birthday.

He does neither of these things. Instead, he pastes on a smile and accepts the cake that Clint is holding out. It says  _ HAPPY 93 _ _ rd _ _ BIRTHDAY CAP  _ in bright blue letters and he feels his smile turn more genuine. Tony is enthusiastically singing different versions of happy birthday, repeatedly, smile so bright that Steve could stare at it all day. Natasha is leaning against the counter, lips quirked in amusement. Clint has a shit-eating grin on his face that means he’s got another surprise up his sleeve. A surprise that is almost guaranteed to give Steve a headache even though he shouldn’t even be able to get headaches. Even Bruce is there, sleeves pulled down over his hands but a smile on his face regardless. Steve wouldn’t even be surprised if Thor showed up at some point. Probably bearing some kind of insanely strong Asgardian drink that was bound to put Steve flat on his back despite the fact that he also shouldn’t be able to get drunk.

They’re all so happy to be doing something as a team that he can’t bring himself to tell them not to. So, he smiles and tries his best to not think about Bucky. Tries his best to just enjoy the day and the company of his friends. 

Tony doesn’t stop singing Happy Birthday until Natasha threatens to stab him and even after that he looks like he’s just itching for an excuse to start singing again.

Clint walks around grinning right up until Steve walks into the trip string he has strung across the main hallway in the common area and suddenly Steve is covered in red, white and blue glitter. Steve stands there blinking glitter out of his eyes for a few moments. He holds his hands up and watches the glitter fall off them, looks at the way they shimmer in the sunlight. He barely has to move his head before even more glitter is falling out of his hair. He stands there staring blankly at his hands long enough that Clint stops laughing. Long enough for Clint to creep a little closer, face worried and regret beginning to show in his eyes. Steve stays still, keeps staring at his hands. Makes sure to fix his face into something resembling sadness.

“Hey, Cap… uh, Steve. You okay there?” Clint asks, voice hesitant and arms half reaching out, like he feels as if he should do something but he doesn’t know what.

Steve allows himself a moment of pure satisfaction that he’s still got it before pivoting and throwing himself at Clint. He’s got a shrieking Clint wrapped in his arms before anyone else on the team can even blink.

“NO! YOU CHEATER, YOU DIRTY DIRTY CHEATER! I DON’T WANT GLITTER ALL OVER ME! YOU’RE GOING TO RUIN MY IMAGE. I HAVE AN IMAGE CAP.” Clint is shrieking, trying his hardest to get away but Steve stands solid.

Tony is bent over in hysterics, laughing so hard that he ends up falling over. Bruce and Natasha are leaning on one another, both of them giggling in surprise. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen either of them laugh. Clint is  _ still _ shrieking and honestly, Steve didn’t realize he could be that loud.

“You know,” he starts, voice thoughtful, “I can give you something better to shriek about if you’re so eager to be screaming,” he says, leering down at Clint and there’s a beat of sudden silence. They’re all staring at him in shock and then Tony starts laughing again, literal tears running down his face he’s laughing so hard. Clint starts shrieking again, this time about how it’s just not right for Captain America to make that kind of joke. Natasha is filming the whole thing he’s pretty sure, probably to use as blackmail about Clint. Bruce is still quietly chuckling to himself from his spot against the counter. And that is how Thor finds them when he appears in the tower.

It takes them a good two hours to explain what was going on because Tony won’t stop laughing and Clint won’t stop screaming about the injustice of Captain fucking America being a little shit.

Steve hasn’t felt this calm since he woke up from the ice. Hasn’t felt this carefree ever.

The water retreats and Steve breathes easy, surrounded by friends and laughter.

.

.

.

.

Life moves on and then because life is a bitch, everything that can go wrong goes wrong. 

Fury ends up almost dying on the floor of Steve’s bedroom. Presses a flash drive into his hand and then gets shot by a man who catches Steve’s shield with one hand. Steve still doesn’t even know how Fury managed to get that far into the Avenger’s tower without getting caught. He’s sure Tony will figure it out eventually but Fury is already lying dead on an operating table so he’s not sure it matters. Fury is dead and God, for all that he had questioned the man’s choices, he didn’t want him dead.

So, Fury dies and while Steve is still reeling from that, from the mystery of the man who caught his shield, Alexander Pierce starts acting strange. Steve thinks that it’s just the grief of losing Fury causing him to misinterpret things. Thinks maybe Pierce is just feeling off kilter and looking for someone to blame. Thinks that maybe it’s him reading too much into things.

_ He’s too focused on the outline of the man standing on the roof of the tower. There had been something painfully familiar about him and he didn’t know what. Just knows that it’s important. _

Keeps thinking that right up until he’s in an elevator surrounded by men he’s supposed to be able to trust. 

He barely makes it out of SHIELD and shatters his phone on his way out of the elevator. Which means that sending out a distress call to the rest of the Avengers is out. Although he’s sure it won’t take them long to figure out something’s wrong. SHIELD isn’t just going to take this and if they put a call for his head then they’ll know something wrong. He just has to believe that. 

Natasha finds him while he’s retrieving the flash drive from the vending machine where he’d stashed it. Or more accurately she finds him while he’s blankly staring at the spot where the flash drive should be in the vending machine. He’s not even surprised at this point. Doesn’t know why anyone bothers trying to hide things from her. 

They end up Camp Lehigh. Because of course this cluster fuck of events would lead him back to where it all started. Lead him back to a place that is filled with ghosts and makes his skin itch with the need to get as far away as possible.

The next few hours feel like a fever dream. Later if asked he’ll be able to recite every detail but at the moment, walking around the camp where he trained, he feels as if Bucky is going to walk up behind him at any moment. Feels as if his chest is going to cave in. He doesn’t say anything though, ignores the sharp glances that Nat keeps throwing his way. He carries on, ignores the picture of Peggy staring down at him with knowing eyes. He keeps going and going and going until it ends with them having nowhere else to go.

Until he’s turning up on the doorstep of a man he barely knows. Sam’s shocked face would be funny if the circumstances weren’t so awful. 

Steve sends up a silent prayer of gratitude that he seems to attract people with a saving people thing. Especially people with a super hero aspect to the saving people thing.

.

.

.

.

There’s a constant stream of noise in Steve’s head. Thoughts on what he’s doing, how to do it better, what to do so that they can all get out of this alive. Just a steady constant stream of useful thoughts that don’t allow him to focus on the panic that’s always ready to jump to the forefront of his mind.

He keeps that stream of thought going right up until the moment he rips the mask off of the Winter Soldier and finds Bucky’s face staring back at him. He feels something inside of him drop and his heart stutters and it feels as though a knife has gone straight through his chest, left him to bleed out on the pavement. 

_ “Bucky?” _ the name tears its way out of him. Half hope and half disbelief. 

“Who the hell is, Bucky?” the man asks, voice hoarse and face showing the barest hint of emotion for the first time since the fight began. 

Steve almost starts crying right there. Almost just gives up and says okay, do your worst. Because that was Bucky’s voice. That was his face and his voice and Steve is  _ not  _ okay. Doesn’t know how anyone could ever expect him to be okay in the face of this. Whatever this is. Bucky runs off before he can think to say anything else and later, he’ll reflect on this and say he was lucky. Because he doesn’t think he would have been able to muster up the courage to keep fighting. Thinks he would have sat down on the pavement right there and let Bucky do whatever he wanted to him. Would have let Bucky stab him through the heart and smile.

He wouldn’t have given a thought to any of his teammates. Hurting Bucky had never been an option for him. Would never be an option. His teammates were friends, were family, but Bucky was more than that in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain.

The water rushes higher and Steve breathes in. The cold grips him tighter and he breathes out.

.

.

.

.

He hadn’t been sure he could fight Bucky. He knows that the lives of millions of people are resting on his shoulders but he still hadn’t been sure. He hadn’t been sure until he was standing on a plane looking straight into his face. 

There’d been a very brief moment where they’d stared at each other, the space between them feeling impassable, and then there had been a barely-there flash of emotion in Bucky’s eyes. Something like fear, like a cry for help. Resolve had settled in Steve’s chest, a promise, an oath. Because if he died then Bucky would be used as a weapon until they got tired of him. Would never remember Steve, would never have the chance to live his life and that was just unacceptable. 

_ I’m with you till the end of the line.  _ He had really thought that he was going to die on that plane. Thought that the last thing he was going to see was Bucky’s face twisted in confusion and fear.

But he wakes up in the hospital later to the knowledge that while Bucky was gone, he had pulled Steve out of the water. Had pulled Steve out of the water and left him on the shore, shield lying next to him. 

Steve cries for the first time since waking up in this time. Cries so hard that even Natasha begins to look worried. Tony sits on the bed beside him, awkwardness radiating from him, and leans against Steve, silently offering support. He’s not actually sure how long he cries, it feels as if he’s making for lost time. Now that the tears have started he doesn’t know how to stop. Tony’s presence against his side a comforting warmth. A welcome distraction from the water now curling around his shoulders. It finally feels as if the cold has disappeared from his lungs. He doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.

He breathes in. Lets himself just feel the warmth of Tony against his side. Breathes out. Takes in the concern in Nat’s eyes. 

There is still so much to do but for now he can sleep and for just a little while, let himself feel safe. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I originally had this posted is as in progress but I've decided this stands decently well on it's own. I also have no idea how long it's going to take me to write the second part sooooo, yeah.   
I'm going to put this in a series so that you can subscribe to the series if you want to.


End file.
